


DS9 Prompt Fics

by mythtress



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythtress/pseuds/mythtress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing prompts received on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do it Again

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from Anon:  
> Happy Halloween! Dukat would use this holiday as an excuse to bite Damar's neck even though he isn't dressed as a vampire. He would try to convince Damar that he was just following Earth customs on the station. Damar is all skeptical looks and he's definitely not buying it, but then these words slip softly out: "Do it again."

Cardassians had few holidays. Those they did have were times to reaffirm their commitment to the State. Except birthdays which were another matter entirely. None of the Cardassian holidays were anything like the holiday of ancient earth origin that was currently being celebrated by some of the station inhabitants.

It was apparently an enjoyable affair as Doctor Bashir had seen fit to ramble on about it at length after an earlier meeting. It involved dressing up in costume, pretending to be someone else for a reason Damar was not sure of, nor did he really want to know. He was a proud Cardassian soldier and he’d remain true to that image. He had excused himself, not being overly interested, but the doctor’s explanation had caught Dukat’s attention and he had stayed.

Damar had returned to the Gul’s quarters, though with as much as he was there it should be known as their quarters, and proceeded to busy himself with simple tasks. He didn’t like having idle hands and boot polishing was cathartic in a way. The repetitive motion of the brush, the sound of the bristles. There was the added bonus of getting to see Dukat swagger just a little more in freshly shined shoes. Damar had picked up the task of shining someone else’s boots when he’d been the Gul’s assistant during the occupation.

Things had changed plenty since then, and thinking deeply about it had caused his senses to go into a stupor. It was a common problem for Cardassian’s due to their brain structure and how they accessed memories. The intense mental training young Cardassian’s received was in part to train them to maintain tight control of this tendency to go on mental walkabouts.

Damar had allowed himself to fall into a recall spiral so he didn’t hear Dukat enter, or his foot falls, or notice his figure in the doorway. He didn’t feel the mattress move as Dukat slipped on the bed behind him. He did feel Dukat’s teeth sink into his neck. The sudden, surprising physical stimulus snapped him from his memories. He wasn’t usually vocal and his cry in alarm and enjoyment startled both men.

The boot brush had fallen from his hand, staining the carpet with black polish. Damar huffed at it, as if the brush had gall enough to fall on the floor. Dukat had slid away from him so Damar turned his annoyed glare on the Gul, who’s forwardness always caught him off guard. Dukat chuckled.

"I’m a vampire." He said proudly, as always.

"A what?" The Glinn asked, setting the half polished boot down.

"A monster from earth folk lore."

"Monster? Earthlings didn’t have enough things to worry about so they decided to make up more?" Damar removed the brush from the darkened stain on the floor and returned it to the polishing kit.

Dukat nodded. “Apparently. This creature went around biting necks, drinking blood for sustenance.”

"That’s disgusting." He grimaced as Dukat agreed.

"Yes, I’d choose a different body fluid if it was up to me." The salacious glint in his eye combined with a suggestive raise of an eye ridge made Damar’s scales darken. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure.

"So you’re a vampire?"

"Just following earth customs. Getting into the spirit of this holiday of theirs."

"I thought you’re supposed to dress up in costume?"

"That’s the beauty of it." Dukat moved in close to him, a hand resting on the small of his back as the other trailed up his arm. "Vampires can look like anyone. All I’ve really got to do to be one is bite a neck."

Damar’s eyes narrowed as the Gul grinned. He didn’t believe Dukat’s explanation and it was a best practice to take anything he said with a hefty dose of skepticism. Though it wouldn’t hurt to let the man have his fun. A small, nearly shy, smile replaced Damar’s sour expression as he tilted his head, presenting the wide expanse of his neck. His soft tone somewhere between pleading and commanding as the words slipped from his lips.

"Do it again."


	2. Colorful Cardassians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziyal helps her father get into the colorful spirit of a Bajoran festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post on Tumblr mentioned colorful Cardassians and this is the result also there is a picture  
> [Cardassian Face Paint](http://mythtress.deviantart.com/art/Cardassian-Face-Paint-492285574) by [Mythtress](http://mythtress.deviantart.com/) on [deviantART](http://www.deviantart.com)

Bajoran festivals were one of Ziyal’s favorite times. Many of the holidays celebrated life and that meant bright colors and laughter. The identity or Lenken festival was one such extravagant display of color and sound. Many people opted to wear masks, while others simply painted their faces. Ziyal was excited to engage in the festivities. Her father’s appearance on the station had seemed to settle a dark cloud over the merriment, but she was happy to have his company.

"Father, please, it’s traditional." Ziyal pleaded, swirling her brush in the bowl of water. The color from the bristles floating out and away to tint the water a dull violet.

"I am not Bajoran, Ziyal. It would be in bad taste for me to engage in Bajoran superstition, such as the lenken festival."

She pouted at him. Was painting his face really such a big deal. Ziyal had been working all morning painting festival goers faces. Her own was decorated in lovely pinks and purples, the pattern blooming from her eyes reminiscent of the flowers she often painted.

"It would make me happy to share this day with you, father. I’ve already got the colors that would look wonderful on you. Please." She tried again, knowing that eventually she would wear him down and he would concede.

Dukat sighed, shaking his head lightly and allowed his gaze to wander across the promenade. The area was a buzz with activity and color. A far cry from the way it had been only years before. The architecture, Cardassian to it’s core was the only element that held a reminder of what Terok Nor had once been. He finally returned his attention to the young woman, she still had that hopeful smile and he knew he wouldn’t deny her.

"Alright." She clapped with joy, her excitement causing him to smile despite his personal feelings about the situation.

"But only the face, and not too much."

Ziyal tapped the chair, indicating him to sit down. “Of course. Not to worry father. You’ll look splendid.”

Dukat sat himself down, taking note of the greens and yellows that Ziyal was placing on her little hand held pallet.

"Now close your eyes and don’t open them again until I say too." Dukat eyed her a little suspiciously but did as he was bid.

The light strokes of the brush were slightly unnerving, and the he didn’t appreciate the coolness of the wet bristles, but he stayed still if only to make her happy. Ziyal chattered away, working quickly, “Oh you’re going to look wonderful father. You might even want to start wearing this pattern into battle. It’s very intimidating.” She laughed, he smiled at the sound.

"What’s going on here?" Damar’s familiar deep tone, placed him several feet away.

"Hello, Damar!" Ziyal happily greeted the glinn. "Father’s getting into the spirit of Lenken." Damar made a noise, indicating his reservations about the Gul’s decision.  
“When he’s done, perhaps you’ll have a go?” The amount of hopefulness in her voice was almost heartbreaking.

"No. I don’t think so." Ziyal didn’t respond. The strokes of the brush becoming quick and loose. Dukat felt the change in pressure as the brush moved from around his eyes and chufa, down to his chin. He heard the little clinks as Ziyal tapped the brush on the side of the bowl.

"There." She sounded pleased as she took one of his hands and placed a weight into it. "Here’s the mirror. What do you think?"

Dukat opened his eyes and held up the mirror. His face was covered in a pattern of flames, radiating out from his eyes in greens and yellows. His mouth had similar waves falling down over his chin. He smiled, admiring the unique coloration, it looked quite fetching. “It’s quite nice, my dear. You’re right, the colors do suit me.”

Ziyal radiated joy at his statement. “I’m so glad.” Dukat held her hand as he gave her back the mirror and stood up.

"Alright Damar, your turn." The Glinn’s eyes went wide.

"Sir?"

Dukat motioned to the chair, “That’s an order.” Ziyal tried to hide her smile as she rinsed and cleaned her brushes. Damar opened his mouth to protest but Dukat tilted his head and the other man slumped into the seat looking defeated.

"This won’t take anytime at all Damar, don’t worry." He set his jaw,not say anything. His eyes flicking to look at Dukat, who smiled broadly at him, before he closed them. "You’ll look great in blue." Ziyal stated, beginning the design in bright aquamarine. Dukat chuckled to himself as he watched his daughter work on the stoic Cardassian. Rather than going up from his eyes, the pattern flowed down and around, forming rippling pools and swirls on his cheeks. She added some silver to the blue, working quickly. Dukat thought it looked rather attractive.

He noticed how the crowd would stop to watch Ziyal work, no doubt perturbed by the sight of Cardassian’s with painted faces.

"There that wasn’t so bad, was it?" She handed him the mirror and Damar took a skeptical glance at himself. "It looks…nice." He glanced at Dukat.

"You look good with some color on your cheeks." He chuckled. Damar handed the mirror back and got up, looking highly unamused.

Ziyal beamed at them. All she needed to do now was find Garak and get him to agree to a painted face. Once she told him that her father and Damar had done it with no complaints she was sure he’d agree just on principle.


	3. Halloween on DS9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked what the DS9 crew would dress up as for halloween

The tailor didn’t bother to look up when the door to his shop opened. He had unlocked it less than two minutes before and there were only three people on the station who would hurry in to see him. Two of which did not wear the particular brand of cologne that was now wafting on recycled air.

"Good morning, Garak!" The young man greeted. He turned with a warm smile.

"And to you doctor. Do tell, to what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit? Some emergency regarding trousers, or have you finally come to your senses and decided to let me make you some new shirts, hm?"

Julian beamed at the Cardassian, sliding his elbows onto the tailor’s workbench and placing his chin atop his hands. Garak eyed him, feeling a twinge of weariness creep along his spine. There was something in the way the man’s eyes shone. Mischief was on his mind.

"Actually I was hoping you’d let me borrow something of yours."

"Oh, and what might that be?" he asked sweetly, folding the emerald green sweater. It was made of a lovely warm material but the color was off. It certainly wouldn’t suit the tan skinned doctor. No, gold would suit him better.

"One of your tunics. The red and gold one if you’re willing." He pushed himself off the bench, hands clasping behind his back as he continued to grin.

Garak took a few moments to look him over, gauging the man’s seriousness. “The red and gold, what ever for, my dear?”

Julian tried his best to contain his laughter, hiding his mouth behind a hand. “It’s a surprise for tonight’s party!” If the man smiled any wider, Garak feared his face would split.

"Well, I suppose. You’ll return it in similar condition of course."

Julian nodded, holding up his index and middle fingers, “Scout’s honor.” 

Garak wasn’t aware of the cultural meaning behind that phrase but he did believe the doctor. He relinquished the requested item informing the human that both the size and cut wouldn’t suit him very well if he was going to try and wear it. Julian had only laughed and reminded him of the holiday party taking place that evening. He’d left once Garak had confirmed he’d be attending.

***

Garak had looked into this ancient human holiday, Halloween, or All Hallows Eve as it had once been called. It was customary to dress up in a costume during Halloween festivities. Which would explain the strange orders he’d gotten from Jadzia, Keiko, and other station inhabitants. He was perfectly happy to create other people’s costumes but when it came time for him to decide what to wear he’d been at a loss. As he sipped a cup of red leaf tea he tried to pull a costume idea to him. His lack of inspiration was disheartening so he reached for a padd to distract himself. It held a collection of short horror stories Bashir had lent him recently. The young human seemed to be getting into the Halloween spirit. Garak took to scanning over the works until finally a description caught his attention. He allowed himself a self indulgent smile, sipping the last of his tea, before rushing off to the back storage room in search of just the right shade of fabric.

***

The time for the party came and the entire senior staff was present as well as friends and family members. Everyone was mingling and enjoying themselves. Sisko was dressed as an earth baseball player with the name Jeter on the back of his shirt. Jadxia was laughing with him while pulling off a stunningly sexy Horta costume. O’brien, dressed as the Scare crow, was dancing with Molly, who was dressed as Glinda the good witch. Keiko, was dressed as Dorthy, held Yoshi, who was resting comfortably in his picnic basket bed as ToTo. Kira had played along and dressed up as a pirate from 18th century earth. No one had seen Odo but the bird that sat on Kira’s shoulder had a similar scowl as the constable.Worf was covered in fur, looking the part of a viking warrior and seemed more than pleased to remain in a corner picking at a plate of what he had thought was ghag.

Quark had done an exemplary job with the buffet, all the food was themed, some of it truly grotesque. The lights of the room had been replaced with orange and purple adding a bit of ambiance to the room. When the doors opened and Garak walked in, looking his usual self Jadzia hurried over to him.

"Garak, this is a costume party." The Cardassian gave her a smile.

"I am wearing a costume, Lieutenant." He tapped at his throat which was an odd display and spoke again. "See?" He smiled broadly.

"Julian?!" The trill stepped back in shock nearly knocking Nog, who was dressed as a bottle of root beer, over. 

"Isn’t it great!" Garak asked with Julian’s voice. "Felix whipped up this little beauty. " He rolled up the sleeve of the red and gold tunic, showing off an item that looked like a large watch. "It’s a portable, single image holo projector." He held up a finger, in a very Garak fashion, "And this," he tapped at his throat again, "Is a voice modulator." The tailor now lacked the English accent, and Jadzia was relieved at hearing the voice she associated with the man.

"That’s really neat Julian, but are you sure Garak won’t mind?" 

His hand waved back and forth as he chuckled, “Garak is gonna get a kick out of it. He isn’t here yet is he?”

Jadzia shook her head, the little bulbs on top sent into wild wiggling. “Not that I’ve seen but he might be in costume, hiding in the shadows.” She winked at him and he responded in kind.

"Right. I guess I’ll mingle until he gets here."

Bashir didn’t have to wait long for the Cardassian to arrive. Fashionably late, of course, in a costume that chilled the room. Everyone took a moment to examine the new comer when he walked through the door. A cloak of night on a frame wrapped in charcoal. The mask that hid his face was twisted and colored the deepest of red.

"The Masque of the Red Death, Edgar Allen Poe if I’m not mistaken." The fake Garak moved forward. Bashir had apparently been rehearsing the tailor’s movements and cadence. "It’s a good representation of the figure. Though I would have cut the cloak differently."

A muffled laugh was heard behind the mask and Garak lifted it from his face, smiling. “I suppose I would were I you, my dear doctor.” 

"Now there are two of them." Worf growled with displeasure. This caused them to grin at one another, matching expressions. Garak replaced his mask and offered an arm to the doctor.

The party resumed and everyone had a wonderful time on Halloween.


	4. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dukat considers a risky venture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for First Kiss

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him. He was above it. He had a reputation to uphold and wasn’t about to throw it all away for someone like him. He was of the lower class as well as a lower rank and yet he was grand in his own way. A true son of Cardassia. Strong, loyal, diligent, not to mention handsome and wasn’t that just perfect. Broad shoulders, toned arms, strength evident in each movement. An attractive arrangement of scales, two rows deep, along his neck. A rugged display, it suited him. Hair kept in the short military style. He was still young, still engrained with ideology, obedience. If a Gul asked him to do anything he would, no question. There was no enjoyment to be had with commanding him to care. No, he had to care of his own volition. Could he? Would he? No. It wasn’t possible. He shouldn’t even entertain the idea. False hope was the enemy of any man. Desire was a weakness and he knew it and yet it was so hard to contain.

When the man enters his office his eye ridges are heavy, shading deep blue irises in a most alluring way. Then he speaks, a rumble, like distant thunder. Words spill from his mouth like rain. Those lips. How much he’d like to taste them. He’s seen the man in the bar after shift and wonders if the tang of Kanar lingers. If he could taste him just once, would that be enough to sate his curiosity? Enough to curb his thirst? No. Certainly not. He’d want more, just like always. He’d savor that mouth then move to his jaw, run his teeth along that neck…and…and…

He’s startled from his deep contemplation as the man lays a hand on his arm. He’s been reciting a report but his words aren’t being heard. In an instant he pulls him close and their lips meet and it’s delightful and sweet and far to short as he pulls away. His eyes are wide in what? Surprise, awe, confusion, fear? It’s hard to tell and he doesn’t allow the time needed to decipher as he turns and departs in haste out the door. 

His fist connects with the desk scattering several data padds. He sits himself in his chair, placing his face in his hands and waits for the man’s request to leave the station. He’s gotten ahead of himself again. Thrown away any chance for a single kiss. A single glorious kiss that’s done nothing to ease his need. No, it’s only compounded the fascination.

Damar. Damn him.


	5. Cold Station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> The station undergoes a massive systems failure from a Klingon attack and a lot of docked ships were crippled. The environmental controls are badly damaged and it is freezing and dark, but the air is breathable. Certain species are having difficulties, including Cardassians. Garak can’t bring himself to tell Bashir he would appreciate some mammalian warmth right now…or maybe he can.

Emergency lighting illuminated the station. The red glow was not much to see by, unless you happen to be a Cardassian like Garak. A miserable, cold Cardassian cocooned in a shop's worth of fabrics and furs, huddled on the couch of his quarters. Damn the Klingons. Their attack had been sudden, so quick there hadn't been any time to retaliate let alone defend themselves. It was well timed, as Sisko was in the Gamma Quadrant leaving the station vulnerable without the USS Defiant's presence. All station systems took damage and nearly all the ships that had been docked needed repairs before they could begin departing. 

The Lighting, environmental controls, replicators, even the artificial gravity of the station had been taken offline. Luckily the air circulation system and life support remained intact. Chief O'Brien got the gravity back in working order. Garak's quarter's were in disarray after the nasty fall his furniture had taken when the gravity had returned. He was in no mood to move furniture in his current state. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the repair crews to get the rest of Deep Space 9 into working order. 

With the environmental controls offline, the coldness of space had begun to seep into the station. It permeated everything, even the fur and linen defenses of the tailor. He shuddered inside his make shift cacoon. What he wouldn't give for a personal heater right now. He had cracked open all the thermal packs he had tucked away, his body adsorbed the heat to quickly and the packs were short lived comfort against the chill. Despite the hideousness of them he had weaved several thermal blankets into his hideaway. Garak also put on every article of clothing he had sewn a thermal lining into though it didn't appear to be making a difference as he shuddered and shrunk down further. Without the replicators he wouldn't be able to get anymore heat packs or blankets, not without leaving his quarters.   
Leaving was not something he could do in his current condition. His body felt heavy, mind hazy, reflexes sluggish. If he was this cold much longer he'd go to sleep, and might never wake up. What a way to go. If only he had some type of heating device or perhaps a warm blooded mammalian humanoid to keep him company. A certain fair faced doctor would fit the bill quite nicely. Garak laughed at the silly notion. Must be the cold affecting his cognitive functions. No humanoid, his dear doctor or not, would be willing to sit with him inside this make shift nest of fabric. Certainly not, the doctor would be far to busy with helping people injured in the attack. He's out there saving lives like always and you're stuck here. Useless. Alone. Forgotten. 

A loud thud came from the doors to his quarters. He stilled, adjusting the blankets so he could see the doors. There was the distinct noise of metal on metal, groaning of movement and some sounds of physical exertion. The doors to his quarters were being opened, the red light of the hallway spilling in through the crack. 

"Garak?" Some more panting as the door opened further. "Garak, are you in here?"

It was Bashir. Garak mused how odd it was that he had just been thinking about the man and now here he was. 

"Garak?" The human had wedged the tool, it appeared to be a pry bar, that he had used to open the door. He slipped into the room, his slim body easily maneuvering through the narrow opening. Something he had wrapped around him got caught and he had to stop and adjust the equipment before continuing. He squinted into the darkened room. The only light from the crack in the door. Without power the station had gone into lock down mode, the view ports covered so there was no starlight to see by. Garak could see well in the low light as the doctor moved closer he noticed the man was wearing something different from his usual uniform. An insulated design for cold climates, it was hideous. Bashir gave a confused once over as he noticed the odd assortment of fabric piled high on the normally tidy Cardassian's couch.   
"Garak?" he sat down next to the pile and reached with a tentative hand, pulling away a portion of blanket. The tailor's eyes were nearly closed as the doctor smiled at him. "You don't look so well, my friend. I've got something here that should help." He pulled the item around that had gotten stuck in the door. It was a thermos. 

"Some nice red leaf for you. Piping hot." He poured a cup, warm steam rising enticingly as he tried to hand it over. Garak wanted to take the cup, but his body refused to move. Bashir smiled kindly. "Here." he pulled some of the cloth away from the tailor's face and raised the cup to his mouth. The proud Cardassian would be incensed about being treated like a child later. Right now all he cared for was the delicious warmth of tea chasing away the chill from his core. Bashir sat the cup and thermos on the table. 

"I'm going to do a few scans, need to check your vitals, alright?" he was poised at the ready, medical tricorder and scanner in hand. Not that he'd take no for an answer but it was comforting to have the illusion of choice. Garak gave a small nod, beginning to feel the effects of the tea. He smiled as Bashir talked. 

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get to you. There were quite a few injuries and there are far more species with cold intolerance aboard the station than I ever realized. Worf isn't having the best time of it, and let me tell you it was a true miracle getting him into the infirmary at all." The doctor laughed before sliding his medical scanner back into the holder on the tricorder. "Just as I thought." He said suddenly taking on a serious tone. "You're much worse off due to the cold. Do you have any more heat packs, or a spare heater we could set up for you?"

"No, I'm afraid not doctor." Garak shuffled the fabric around freeing up his arms. "I'm sure I'll be alright after another cup of tea." Bashir nodded, pouring another and offering it to him. "Thank you for this." The Cardassian looked down at the small metal cup. "and your concern. Though I'm sure you have other patients who need your attention more." 

Garak's skin was suddenly surrounded by heat as Bashir took his hand, fingers intertwining. "I came here to check on you Garak, because you are my friend and I care about you." There was an increase in temperature as Bashir continued. "And as your friend and physician I can't knowingly leave you to suffer. So..." he began to tug at the blankets. 

"Doctor! What are you doing?" 

"I'm going to help keep you warm until the environmental controls come back online." Several walls of fabric fell away and Bashir slid himself into the opening next to Garak.

"That's not necessary doctor." Garak continued to protest, even as he helped the human tuck the blankets back around them. 

"Perhaps not necessary." Bashir agreed, fitting snugly against the Cardassian's side. "But certainly enjoyable." His head rested on the other man's chest as Garak pulled him in close delighting in the heat now permeating his clothing. There was something to be said about mammalian body heat. They stayed nestled together, dozing comfortably until the hum of the station roused them. 

"It seems the Chief has worked his magic." Garak commented, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Hmm, yes he's a real magician." Bashir agreed, pulling lightly at the Cardassian to bring him closer. 

"Shouldn't you be reporting back to Ops or the infirmary?" The tailor questioned, a grin forming.

"They know how to reach me." Bashir assured, both of them smiling at his answer.


	6. Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> Damar has been awake for hours and hours after a battle and he is completely exhausted. His words slur even though he hasn’t been drinking and he keeps nodding off. With a fond smile, Dukat throws him over his shoulder and takes him to bed.

The console blurred before him as he yawned yet again. How long had he been awake? Forty three hours. No, Forty four. Maybe it was closer to fifty. He couldn't remember and didn't care to recall. The Naprem had sustained considerable damage from a surprise encounter deep in Klingon space. Crew members killed and injured leaving the ship crippled and short handed. A skeleton crew consisting of himself and three other officers were all that was left to limp the ship back to the station. He'd stayed on the bridge the entire time, there was no one else to lead as Dukat had stayed on the station to deal with some business. Damar had been responsible for the ship in the Gul's absence and would answer for what had happened. The three officers had been rotating shifts to sleep and eat. A Gil among them had been kind enough to bring the Glinn food several times during the slow trek out of enemy territory. All Damar wanted now was sleep. There was still another ten hours before they would be within communication range of DS9, able to call for assistance. He rubbed his eyes, another yawn escaping him. He'd sleep for days when this was over.

***

Dukat paced before the door of the docking pylon. Hands clasped tightly behind him as he continually glanced up through the glass to watch the ship being brought in. The Naprem had to be towed for the last leg of it's journey. He halted and climbed the first step as the loud locking of the docking clamps was heard through the corridor. Dr. Bashir along with several medical staff stood at the ready. The communication the station had received stated severe injuries and multiple casualties. The air lock began to open, far to slowly for Dukat who edged himself past the half open door. He hurried onto the ship and made a direct line for the bridge. Noting the damage to the ship as he went. It appeared as though what was left of the crew had done their best to tidy up before arriving at the station. Paneling, once hiding the guts of the ship, were missing, patches over wiring and internal systems were clearly visible. Whatever structural damage had been swept away, as had the casualties.

Several officers were leaving the bridge as Dukat arrived. They each nodded to him in turn, weary eyed, postures bent in defeat as they departed. It would take time to build up morale after such a devastating loss. That could wait. Dukat scanned the bridge. Damar was not seated in the captain's chair. Though it was his rightful position until the Gul took command of the ship again. Damar sat, head bowed, at the navigation console. Dukat allowed himself a relieved smile as he neared the man. No doubt the Glinn had navigated the entire time. It was in his nature to put the ship and crew above himself. One of the attributes that made him a great Glinn.

"Damar." He didn't stir. A shake of his shoulder roused him, a moment of panic flitted across his face as he looked over the console. The lack of input causing him bewilderment. "Damar?" The Glinn looked up at him in surprise. 

"Shir?" He slurred, head weaving, as though it was to heavy for his neck. Eyes squinted as he tried to focus. Dukat squeezed his shoulder in assurance that he wasn't a hallucination.

"Yes, It's me." 

Damar's lip trembled, he looked away, body unbalanced as he braced against the console. Dukat had seen it before. The man was dead on his feet, past the point of exhaustion. Emotional. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, least of all his superior officer. 

"Damar..." The Glinn took a moment to gather himself. Leaning heavily on the console. He turned back to Dukat, features etched with anguish. The first big loss under ones command wasn't something that could be brushed off. Dukat remembered his own and felt that familiar twinge of regret. It was a wound, scarred over with time, yet it still ached when prodded. He had learned to live with it. Damar would as well. 

"Outta nowhere..." Damar mumbled, lids falling heavy. Dukat reached out a hand to cradle the man's sinking head, a thumb stroked tenderly over his cheek. 

"so fast...crew..." He turned into the palm, his breath hitching. Dukat wiped away the few tears that couldn't be held back.The Glinn didn't have the faculties to deal with the loss appropriately, at least not until he'd slept.

"Damar, I'm relieving you of duty." Dukat announced in his commanding tone before easing back to speak with fondness. "Now, let's get you some rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being more angst than I intended, I might try to write a more lighthearted version of the prompt sometime


End file.
